


Tea and Scones

by ClumsyChicken



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, POV First Person, Post-Canon, Present Tense, Spoilers, Suicide, Timeline Shenanigans, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 19:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8590177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClumsyChicken/pseuds/ClumsyChicken
Summary: The nightmare swirls and churns unending. As it repeats itself, Petra tries to rectify her past actions. She's invited over one of the people whose fate needs mending for something sweet and something far more serious.





	

I've shed my boots and my hat and tucked my legs in under me. It feels like it's been years since my feet were this toasty. In the vacuum of this room, I can almost convince myself that everything is normal. That the world outside isn't nightmarishly bleak. That I haven't been here before.

   The freshly-brewed cup of tea in front of me rejuvenates my mind. Most other notable smells around here boil down to blood, bile, and dust, and how they're accentuated when it's been raining. Herbal tea is such a welcome change, it almost smells alien. A hint of incense also sticks to the furniture. The chapel dweller uses plenty, and I've come to associate its scent with him. That, and a modicum of safety. I would never take off my boots here without that smell.

   I take another look at my pocket watch and pout. My attempts at reading one of the multitudinous books in this small space between the Tomb and the Chapel itself have been utterly unsuccessful. Despite the atmosphere encouraging a sense of safety, unrest reigns in my gut. It's almost impossible to truly concentrate. Potential sentences and arguments and conversational branches have been fluttering around non-stop in my mind. It makes it exceedingly difficult to concentrate on those written on a page. But I cannot rest until these fateful moments are over. And I haven't the faintest clue if Alfred is a punctual man. The jam will have soaked well into the scones by now – but perhaps that's for the best. They were rather stale at this point.

   My muscles tense and my breath stalls when I hear heavy footsteps coming down the stone staircase. My hand hovers over the axe I left on the table. I lean back in my chair with a deep sigh when Alfred walks in through the doorway. A smile lights up his face as he lays his eyes on me.

   "Ah, there you are," he says. "My apologies if I'm late. I got a little held up on the path of life, so to speak." I pat the chair strategically placed beside me. He sets down his Kirkhammer by one of the bookshelves and drapes the thick Executioner's cape on the chair. As he takes a seat, his gaze falls upon the small plate of scones. His eyes widen and his smile turns even more brilliant.

   "Are those scones?" I nod with my eyebrows raised. He'll likely end up eating them both.

   "May I?" he asks, pointing at them with the tone of a giddy kid. I nod again and gesture towards the tea pot and empty cup in front of him.

   "Have some tea as well. Didn't have much luck procuring any cream, unfortunately," I say, and take a sip of my own tea. Its warmth spreads throughout my body – everywhere but my tense stomach.

   "Oh, I'm sure this will do just fine," he says. He pours some tea, grabs a scone, and tucks in. He moans and looks at me as though I've saved his life.

   "You are much too good to me," he mutters. I chuckle and take another sip. He scarfs down the scone, blows on his tea, and takes a big gulp. He comfortably sinks into his chair much like I did.

   "It's been too long since I last had cakes and the like," he states, with a hand on his bearded cheek.

   "I know, right? We don't have many such luxuries anymore, unfortunately," I say. We both shake our heads a little.

   "It's nice to be able to take a break every once in a while," he says. "Especially in good company."

   "Indeed." I pick at my fingers. The unrest won't leave me – not until the deed is done. All of the carefully constructed sentences I'd prepared are jittering in my mind and slipping out of my grasp. I put my hand down on his knee with my breath caught in my throat.

   "Alfred, there's something I have to talk to you about," I say, carefully articulating every word. He supports his chin on his fist and turns his full attention towards me.

   "Ah, yes, so you said. We weren't meeting here purely for the fun of it," he says.

   "Yes, yes," I say. I swallow hard, still trying to decide on just the right combination of words. After a few moments, I throw caution to the wind.

   "It's a very strange situation, this. Unfortunately. It makes it a bit hard to describe." He tilts his head slightly.

   "Perhaps I could help?" he suggests. I sigh through a weak smile.

   "I highly doubt it. No offense, Alfred."

   "None taken." I drag my palms down my face and take a deep breath.

   "The thing is, I've been here before," I say, then press my lips together. "Well, obviously I've been right here in this room before, though everything we're doing at the moment is a new experience. But, the point is..." I visualize the very first time I met him, praying in front of the monument. Then I revisit the second time we met for the first time. I had the same feeling in my gut as I do now, only less pronounced. Soothing familiarity mixed with utter dread.

   "The first time we met, in front of that big Executioner statue, I knew exactly what you were going to say, because we've met like that before." He narrows his eyes. "Everything was the same. Your tone of voice, your words, where you were, everything that had happened beforehand. It's the same with everyone, everywhere I go," I explain. He blinks multitudinously and opens and closes his mouth a few times before speaking.

   "You mean something like déjà vu?" he asks. I tilt my head from side to side with a frown.

   "I suppose, but that's almost too mild. I am very literally experiencing everything all over again," I say, and rest my forehead in my palm. Silence falls between us while the cogs turn in Alfred's head and I try to control my breathing.

   "What is 'everything', Petra? What does that involve?" he finally asks and takes a quick sip of his tea.

   "I tore through this nightmare, Alfred. I harmed some people and helped others. Eventually, everything... came apart. I—" I swallow hard. "I think I was devoured by a Great One of some sort. That part is rather difficult to remember, in comparison. Then I woke up, right back where I started. And now the same things are happening to the same people all over again. Everything is repeating itself," I say. I reach for my teacup to occupy myself, but my hands are shaking. I have to hold onto it with both of them to take a sip. I steel myself to speak again, but he interrupts my preparations.

   "That is so incredibly odd. It might actually be one of the weirdest things I've ever heard. I can't even say I've ever read about anything quite like it, either," he muses. Then he places a broad hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eye.

   "How are you feeling? The nightmare is a very harsh experience, and to have to go through all of that twice over..." He shakes his head slightly. "I just have to wonder how you're handling it." The mere question feels like a breath of fresh air. I slowly blink and pat his hand.

   "It varies, to be honest with you. Mostly it's just... endlessly exhausting." A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.

   "I can imagine. It makes breaks like these all the more crucial," he says. I laugh once.

   "No doubt. Thank you for asking," I mutter. He points at the other scone with his thumb.

   "Of course. But you really ought to eat something sweet, then," he says. I wave a hand in front of me dismissively.

   "No, it's alright. I mostly brought them for your sake, actually." His smile widens and he raises his eyebrows.

   "Oh, is that so? Well, in that case..." He seizes the scone and takes a bite. Just when he's about to speak again, I clear my throat and cup his free hand in mine.

   "Alfred, that isn't all. I'm going to have to ask you to listen to me. Carefully. And really think about what I'm telling you and not interrupt me," I say, looking him directly in the eye. His smile fades and he blinks a few times before nodding. I take a deep, shaky breath.

   "Traversing the nightmare again, I've been trying to make amends with people. Change what happened last time. Some of it has been successful, some of it... less so." The red brooch that still lies in my pocket suddenly feels heavy. "And... you're one of the people that I need to do right by this time." He presses his eyebrows together.

   "Last time, I—" I sigh and clear my throat. "I found the way to Castle Cainhurst." His eyes widen, and the rosy hue drains from his undertone. "After fighting my way through the castle, and locating the Queen, I told you. I told you where it was." He shifts in his seat, and I can tell that words are right on the tip of his tongue. I hold up a single digit.

   "Wait," I say, and he clenches his jaw. "So, of course, you travelled there. You killed her, forcefully. And then—" The memories flash through my mind, nearly making my throat close up. "I found you, before the Executioner statue. Dead. By your own hands." He merely stares at me with an utterly piercing gaze.

   "Do you still remember where it is?" he asks with an ice cold tone. I close my eyes for a moment and then return the steely gaze.

   "Alfred, if you want to have even the slightest chance of me telling you that, you're going to have to make a promise to me," I say.

   "So you do remember?" he interrupts. I hush him, and his nostrils flare briefly.

   "Now, I can't say what could've happened to you mentally in the hours between killing the Queen and returning to that statue. I have hundreds of guesses, but no inkling as to which one might hold some truth, since you told me nothing. So..." From the inside pocket of my coat, I draw out the unopened envelope, Cainhurst seal deliberately facing him. He regards it as though I just procured from my pocket the answers to every question we've ever had about the cosmos. His body stiffens, his breath stalls, and his fingers clutch the edge of the table.

   "Before I give you this, _if_ I give you this, you need to make a promise." His gaze shifts back and forth between me and the summons. "You need to promise me that, instead of returning to do whatever it is that you did by the monument, you check in with me first. We can meet up wherever you'd like, and I'll happily accompany you to the monument afterwards—"

   "No, this is something I must do on my own," he interrupts again. I shake my head.

   "You don't get to say that. Not after last time. I'm reaching out to you, Alfred, I'm giving you a chance to still fulfil your goal. But you have to take my hand, here. All I have to know is that you'll come out of this on top, and all you have to do is meet me after the deed is done at Cainhurst. That's it. Can you promise me that?" I ask, maintaining eye-contact. His jaw is set, and he moves around in his seat. I tighten my grip on the summons, crumpling the envelope and thick paper inside. He looks as though he might snatch it out of my hand at any moment like a covetous cat. After a few long seconds, he lets out a shaky sigh.

   "I can make no such promise, Petra," he says, voice nearly a whisper. My heart sinks for a moment, before I grit my teeth.

   "Well, then you're just going to have to live with never knowing," I say with a stiff shrug.

   "Petra," he huffs and jerks his head to the side.

   "Alfred," I retort. As he sinks his teeth into his lower lip, I lean forwards to catch his gaze anew.

   "I know how much this means to you—"

   "Do you, Petra? Do you really?" he snaps, shooting me a look that'd make anyone else shrink. I blink and tilt my head.

   "Alright, fair enough. I can imagine, I can perhaps understand how much you want this. But I saw what it did to you, Alfred. I've already seen you destroy yourself. I cannot let that happen again. All I ask of you is that, on your way back, you come by me. Soothe me so that—so that I can soothe you. Help you—help you through this. If nothing else, I can walk you all the way home so that you have someone to talk to, so that you don't..." His gaze drops to the floor, and I let the sentence trail off. Silence reigns while I take a deep breath to rein in my hammering heart and he swallows audibly.

   "Help me so that I can help you," I say. With a loud sigh, he leans back in his chair with his lips pressed into a white line.

   "I'll try," he says. I shake my head.

   "Not good enough," I state.

   "I will! I will," he exclaims, glaring at me with furrowed brows. A smile plays at the corners of my mouth.

   "Is that a promise I hear?" I say. He doesn't respond to my more light-hearted tone whatsoever.

   "Yes. It is. It is a promise," he whispers. I let the words settle in my mind for a few seconds. My gaze drops and wanders – over the rows of books and the tea pot on the table. My tongue darts out and wets my lips, before I hand him the envelope between two digits. He yanks it out of my hand and examines it, turning it between his fingers. With a shaky breath, he clumsily tucks it in his coat pocket. He gets up, turns towards me, and cups my hand between both of his.

   "Thank you, Petra," he says, with too much air. "It has been a pleasure. May the good blood guide your way." I can't place his expression. His eyes remind me of those of a sad puppy, but he's smiling ever so slightly. I don't answer him. My lips merely part in silence. He pulls his cape back on, picks up his Kirkhammer, and strides out of the small room. It's as though he takes my breath with him. I slide my hands over the table, looking for something to stare at, something to hold onto. I pick up my tea cup and gulp down the rest of it. It's long since gone cold, and the last half of the scone is left over on the small plate. My heart has well and truly sunk now. The urge to pick up all the porcelain and smash it against the wall is almost overwhelming.

   I should have killed her myself.


End file.
